For Whom the Bell Tolls
by suiei
Summary: Organization XIII and people who didn't know who they were. It's a reflective fic, not the usual type, and I'm making no promises. Rated for two teensy foul words. Standalone second chapter added!
1. 1: For Whom the Bell Tolls

**For Whom the Bell Tolls**

Please spork this. It _deserves_ it. Humongously. But it wouldn't leave me alone! Ack! It's...uh, unedited, technically, and I think I want to leave it that way just so that it has that disconnected, rough feel.

Think over it, don't read _just_ what's on the page. That's how I wanted it to be written, in any case, but I think I've failed. It's going up because I want to see what people think. Le sigh.

_1-18-2009 Fixed the retarded formatting._

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They must have been part of a cult, or something, with those outfits. I never saw a one wear anything else so it must have been a uniform.

Hell of a weird uniform, I thought.

I only ever found out a few of their names; Xaldin and Demyx, and a man called Luxord would come in every now and then and fleece customers. Several more faces were without names, but the one named Xaldin was the most oft visitor, and he didn't come that often.

I never got the impression that he (or any of them, really) liked me or cared much for his surroundings at all, just so that he had a quiet place to read and drink something. And my place was quiet. It was tucked off into a back street, just a little way off of the Second District's main square, very dark and generally lit with a fire and candles. Yay for fire hazards.

There wasn't enough money for electricity, see.

I don't remember the first time I noticed any of them; they came in alone every now and then, _very_ rarely together, but on one appearance a hood had been removed. He had bright eyes, wild blond hair and a slender, expressive face. I later learned his name was Demyx.

I kept a wall of books for customers. I had to make a living in Traverse Town, and I'd carved mine out of a hole in the wall; transformed the bottom floor into a coffee shop sort of gig and the upper floor into my home. I still wasn't sure how I'd gotten my hands on that place, but it was mine.

The cult-people tended to stay later than most, especially if it were Xaldin, who sat far in the back, always in the same chair, reading whatever he'd picked up that evening.

Xaldin brought books, once. Old ones, like they were bound a long time ago. Real leather on the covers, too, and old-time print though the paper wasn't very old.

Though he left them here, I got the odd impression that they were less a gift to me than for his own usage when he came in. I didn't mind, not in the least, because I read them.

Xaldin liked lemon squares, Demyx liked cookies. I never had much of either to sell but the latter charmed them out of me even though I had a 2-per-person limit. There was a scarcity of flour and sugar, and eggs, and a dearth in my cooking skills so I hated selling out before the end of the night because I couldn't make any more.

Luxord liked coffee, and he liked all different kinds of flavoring in it. The loud one with one eye and a big mouth ate cake. The girl was a bitch, and nothing I ever said could end well, but she liked iced sweet tea. Two lemons and a straw, and don't you fuck it up.

There were a couple more, but they were far more intermittent and I've forgotten by now.

I was only open in the evening. I only saw them late at night.

I'm not sure how, but I'd built up a clientèle. It couldn't have been _me_, I wasn't always affable and the service wasn't always stellar. I tended to get sharp with impatient customers. It was why I had to hire two workers to help out, but on the whole I was awful at delegation and still did most of the work myself.

I think it was the novelty. The clientèle issue, I mean...There weren't many places in Traverse Town that existed for the sole purpose of...just _sitting_ there, really, thinking and chatting. Calm places. There were a lot of bars and taverns, and a giant base of a fantastic array of things from different worlds, but...I didn't want that. I didn't like that. I functioned better in peace and quiet.

Then...Xaldin stopped coming. I couldn't help worrying—Traverse Town was a dangerous place and there were too many dark alleys to disappear into—but I couldn't really do anything about it, either.

Demyx hadn't been around for a while, and I missed the cheerful bugger.

Eventually Luxord showed up, but when I asked he wouldn't say.

Later that same night, the man with one eye arrived and asked for something hard. I'd never felt _comfortable_ around him, but since I associated him with Xaldin, who was rather scary to begin with, I couldn't say I was afraid.

Alcohol wasn't on the main menu, but...my hair stood straight up on the back of my neck and I didn't ask _him_ where Xaldin or Demyx were.

I went and got something from upstairs—I don't remember what—he ended up pretty drunk. I didn't even mind it; I shut the doors early and sat on the bar, playing cards with Luxord and losing my shirt.

That was the last time I saw any of them, helping Luxord drag that man outside after he passed out over a table.

For a while I waited for them to come back, glancing a little too hopefully at the door. They never did, and Xaldin didn't come and get his books back.

I guess...I hope nothing happened to them. They weren't bad people. I hope they're alright.


	2. 2: Projector Screen

**Projector Screen**

Another one-shot, a little different. I guess. Very short. Alleyways are rather dangerous places.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts. Cheers.

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Only once did I see any of the cult-people outside of the shop.

'Leave her alone.'

The order was smooth, brooked no argument; I was terrified: I had no idea what the hell was going on now, delirious, and as Demyx took a firm—almost painful—grip on my arm and jerked me stumbling out of that Man's reach, I looked up at him. He wasn't smiling; his face was as black and determined as a winter storm. Where did he pop out of? Thin air?

I stood shaking on my legs, shirt ripped at the buttons.

'Who the hell're you,' the Man said, growling at Demyx, who was only marginally shorter—and Demyx wasn't short.

'Doesn't matter,' the musician said, calm and glassy. 'Now, leave.'

The man stepped forward, his already considerable mass appearing to enlarge and encompass the whole space of the alley entrance, near the back door of my cafe where I kept the trash bins.

Demyx was thin, he didn't stand a—

'Pardon me, but I believe you're outnumbered.' Luxord pulled his hood down as he stepped out of..._nowhere_, it seemed. Where did he come from? The accented syllables were warped into something altogether inhuman.

There was a solid _thwock_ and the Man crashed to the ground with force enough that I felt the shock from four feet away. A tall, wiry man with long blond hair and a pointed jaw stood there, a heavy slat of spare crate—ones like were all over Traverse Town—in his hand. He, they all, wore the same black cloak.

'Thanks, Vexen!' Demyx said, raising one hand and waving in a friendly way that only intensified the curious dizziness in my head. Wait, he was back to "Happy" Demyx?

'You ought to be more careful,' the stringy man said, and I felt a little like a scolded child as I nodded. His voice was fairly high-pitched.

There was a sort of irritated impatience about him; I worked around people, it was my job to learn to read _some_thing. But it ghosted by, almost as if I was projecting topical colors onto a blank screen. It was bewildering, unnerving. This was a momentary glimpse behind the veil.

The tall man's eyes drifted sharply to Demyx. I got the distinct impression that he was none too pleased about this situation, and while I was not quite the subject of the dislike, I was a factor in it.

"...Are...you guys up to something?" I asked, immediately regretted my lack of tact, and with a superb poker face Luxord lied to me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Of course I didn't want a part of it, and so I let myself fall hook, line, and sinker.

They walked away, I stepped back inside the back room of the cafe, and when I turned—to look back at a whirring sound—they weren't there. I didn't feel up to investigating.

That man hadn't meant to let me see it, and if my senses hadn't been working in overdrive I wouldn't have, but when I looked closer at Xaldin, even Demyx, looked past the fluid, conventional reactions I took for granted, there was that same blank screen.

Their memories stayed with me long after I left Traverse Town and made it back home, long after my hair grayed and my eyes faded to the light. That group of people, who I did miss, even as I was grateful I had nothing to do with them. A person could still do things that they would not really be expected to.

That, of course, left me to wonder why Demyx, and Luxord, and that man, were there in that alley.

Years later, my granddaughter asked me once; Grammie, what did you do in Traverse Town?

She was a precocious kid, and I was aware most people didn't like talking about it. It was Dark Times, but for me it wasn't so much about loss, though I suffered just the same. It was a dream, a shrouded memory, linked together by the people and the places. A long absence. Once it was over, it was done.

I said: I had a cafe.

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Haha, the last update for this was 2006, and so help me, the last time I actually updated any stories was in 2007. I take a long time. Writing is a hobby, not a job. Actually, I write more original fiction, which you can get to through the link in my profile. Vizzini, except I'm totally not Italian. Inconceivable!

Did I do an okay job of it? Please tell me. Review. It occurs to me that these two stores are perhaps against canon; the Organization shouldn't have been dying off at the same time as people lived in Traverse Town, but I like to think that the words gradually rebuilt themselves, instead of instantaneously shooting off. So, there.

As for why they'd even care to do...this...well? That's the point. Perhaps one or some of them felt an academically-driven, as opposed to emotionally-driven, urge to help? Again, much is left unsaid and open to interpretation, and I hope you can pick up that while the main character talks about herself, the questions are really supposed to be asked towards the members of Organization XIII. Thanks. If you want to tell me that Demyx is always a Pixi Stix chugging spaz, you might want to view the whole "silence, traitor" bit in Hollow Bastion.

Anyway, I had this lying around, so I decided to put it up. I WANT YOU to review. Haha. Tell me if I royally fucked up.


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